Fit to the Crime
by DaughteroBelleChimesAngstsInNV
Summary: [Tag to 4.07 "Targets of Opportunity."] Rusty should've known there would be consequences.
1. Chapter 1

**This is the first work co-written by SChimes, Rosabelle, Lizinnv, HereThereBeAngst, and DaughterOfAres. We were all very unhappy with Rusty's CRIMINAL behavior in Targets of Opportunity (4x07). Very, very, unhappy. We're hoping the show fixes that for us, but we couldn't wait for that, so we wrote this story!**

 **This was going to be a oneshot, but that didn't work out because we had to put ALL our feels in there. So now there will be three chapters instead ;)** **. We hope you enjoy!**

* * *

 **Fit to the Crime**

"Ah. Rusty." Lieutenant Provenza spotted him almost as soon as he'd entered the murder room, his jovial tone stopping the boy in his tracks. "Good, I was hoping you'd drop by today." He wriggled his fingers in a 'come here' gesture.

Rusty gave him a distracted look. "Uh, hello Lieutenant. Listen, I'm sorry, but I'm actually just here to drop off Sharon's phone charger, and I'm kind of in a hurry, so..."

"This won't take long," Provenza interrupted with a casual handwave and friendly smile. "But you're just the young man I wanted to talk to."

Rusty sighed. "Is this about your cactus hat stand again?" he guessed, "because I swear, I looked all over the condo and it's not there, and there was definitely nothing left in TJ's truck, so if you can't find it in the storage unit, it's gotta still be at your house – "

"This isn't about the hat stand," grumbled Provenza. Getting up from his chair, he gave the boy a long look. "Let's talk."

"Actually, TJ's kind of waiting for me, I'm supposed to meet him at – "

"I'm sure he won't mind," declared Provenza. "He seemed like a patient fellow." He smiled pleasantly, ignoring Rusty's eye roll. "Why don't you send him a text message and ask him to wait a little."

Rusty opened his mouth to protest, but seeing the lieutenant's determined look, he gave up. "Fine," he sighed, resigned. "But I really can't stay long, okay?"

Provenza let out an indistinct rumble under his breath. "Well, now, that would depend on you, I'd say. Could be anything from, oh, half hour, to... three to fourteen months, probably."

"...what?" The boy gave him a confused look.

With a wry twist of his lips, the lieutenant put a hand on Rusty's shoulder. "Come with me," he commanded, and with his other hand he grabbed a thick folder off the desk, "I want some place more private for this little chat."

* * *

With resignation – and a small amount of trepidation, because the lieutenant was acting a little...weird – Rusty allowed himself to be maneuvered to the break room. He waited impatiently while Lt. Provenza checked that the room was empty, and wondered what was so important that it required so much privacy and preparation.

He didn't wonder too hard...there was a small voice at the back of his head telling him to avoid too much speculation. Provenza had been a detective a really long time. Hiding anything from him was nearly impossible.

"Well...?" he asked, once the lieutenant had closed the door.

Provenza returned a pleasant smile and pointed to one of the chairs at table.

Rusty rolled his eyes, again, but sat down as bidden. With a deliberate lack of hurry, the lieutenant sat down across from him.

"Well, Rusty..." he started with a slow, thoughtful nod. "Having observed your progress as an investigative reporter... I think it's time to give you a very valuable piece of information about working with the police. Information," he added, "that's sure to come in useful for your future career."

Huh. That wasn't what he'd been expecting. Rusty gave him a slightly confused look, "Okay...?"

Provenza place the folder he'd brought along on top of the table. "Everything in a police station revolves around paperwork," he said gravely. "No matter what you do – and believe me, I've spent most of my career trying – there's no getting away from it. Paperwork," he sighed, "is everywhere."

Rusty waited for him to continue, but when the silence stretched on for more than a few seconds, he pulled a face: "...wait, that's it? You called me here to tell me about paperwork...?"

"Yes. You see...like I said, it's everywhere." He opened the folder, his fingers moving the pages lazily. As time passed he continued browsing the papers seemingly aimlessly before sighing. "Police stations are required to keep endless records of everything... not just cases and interviews and evidence, but records of incoming tips, of actionable tips, field interviews, background checks..."

Provenza kept his head bent over of the folder, but his eyes looked up, over the rims of his glasses. The piercing, knowing look had Rusty's heart rate increasing; he knew that the way his eyes widened was all the confession that the Lieutenant would need to know he was right.

It took two tries for him to swallow his nervousness properly.

"Ah!" Provenza pulled a page from the folder as though he'd found something of particular interest. His smile was deceivingly cordial. "This, for example, is an action form for following up on a sighting of "Rico" at a gas station on the 110. You remember – from the action center you helped at two days ago."

Still smiling, he slid the form over to Rusty. His hand tapped against the table a couple of times. "I'm sure this looks familiar, you must've seen hundreds of them that day." He returned to the folder, but barely looked at it contents before pulling out another paper. "And this, is a form requesting a background check on a person of interest... in this case, one... Gustavo Wallace."

Rusty was determined not to squirm. He was not a criminal. He was a professional journalist. He had used the only resources available to him to gain information. Sure he'd had to do it behind the backs of people he cared for and respected, but they'd have tried to _stop_ him...

Provenza placed this paper on top of the one already sitting in front of him, and tapped it a couple of times with a crinkled finger before speaking. "Now, does that name sound familiar? It should. By some interesting coincidence, the same name appears in your latest … vlog." The lieutenant's tongue was unaccustomed to that word and it wrapped oddly around it with characteristic disdain and confusion. A second later, however, had him back to his knowing smile. "I love coincidences, don't you, Rusty?"

Rusty felt his cheeks begin to burn. When he lowered his head, his eyes locked onto the name he'd come to hate already. He swallowed twice before trying to speak, but his voice sounded choked anyway. "Are you going to tell Sharon?"

The scoff that followed that question contained no humor. "Oh, we're nowhere near that point of our conversation yet. But... speaking of Sharon." Provenza pulled out another document from the folder. "Do you see this? This is another record, authorizing all those background checks and action forms from two days ago. Guess whose signature is at the bottom there."

Rusty didn't want to look. He could guess whose signature it was, though he couldn't quite figure out the connection. As the lieutenant continued to wait, with an expectant look, he knew he had to make some sort of reply. It didn't take long for his eyes to land on the signature at the bottom of the paper. His stomach tightened and coiled into knots. It was Sharon's.

"Now... imagine, that... hypothetically speaking... one of those background checks," Provenza gestured to the folder with a wave of his hand, "say, into your friend Gustavo for example... imagine that it came to light that that check was done illegally. That the LAPD," the Lieutenant's speech took on a slight edge has he slowly articulated the rest of his sentence, "accessed the National Crime Information Center database for information about a civilian from another state, without just cause... which by the way, is expressly forbidden by a federal statute which makes is a _federal crime_ – "

Rusty felt his breath catch and it took him a second to remember how to breathe, "Oh my god – what?"

"–and that Captain Raydor signed off on it. Who do you think would be held responsible for that?"

Rusty was shaking his head and squirmed for a moment before he began bouncing in his chair out of sheer panic. "What? No! _No_! Lieutenant – okay, I get it, that was an awful thing to do, I'm really – I'm sorry! Please tell me that's not true, okay? It's – Sharon can't – this has nothing to do with her! She didn't do anything wrong!"

Provenza calmly shook his head and gestured to the form with Sharon's signature. "It's her signature on that file, Rusty – not to mention that she's the one who allowed you to stay and volunteer, and, she's your mother. So, legally – "

"Oh my god!"

"– 'oh my god' is right, son," the kind explanatory tone had vanished without warning, and Rusty mentally cringed away from the stern tone that was now being directed at him. "Because this isn't something you can undo. Like I said, it's all written right there in black and white, and entered into record."

Rusty's heels bounced against the floor. He was shaking his head trying to think of an intelligent argument. Grasping at any passing thought that would fix the problem he'd created. But his brain couldn't seem to move past the blind panic. "I – just, please, Lieutenant, I understand, but Sharon can't be responsible for this, okay? _I_ did everything, she doesn't even know! And…and – I didn't know that all of that could happen!"

Provenza's stern look didn't falter, and he maintained the same hard even tone. "I'm afraid, Rusty, that the law doesn't make those distinctions." His tone softened slightly, and with a single blink the lieutenant's expression changed. The knowing look was filled with sad disappointment. "And I think" he nodded slightly, his eyebrows raised and lowered as though agreeing with himself, "you knew that filling out that form was wrong."

Rusty blinked against the tears that began to form at seeing the disappointment in the Lieutenant's expression. He tried to focus on the papers in front of him, and spread them out unevenly. The tears and pounding heart made the words impossible to read. How did this happen? Sharon would hate him forever if he got her fired. Or worse.

"I know I made a big mistake. I know that." Rusty kept his head down pretending to focus on the papers he couldn't read. "I knew it was a mistake when I did it, I... don't know what I was thinking."

"That much is clear." The disappointed tone was replaced with the stern one. "But you didn't make a mistake. Picking up the wrong coffee order is a mistake. Going to see Slider in jail... _that_ was a mistake. This, Mr. Beck... this is a crime." The pause brought Rusty's eyes up to meet the Lieutenant's stern glare once more. "We get a lot of people in here who have to learn that difference the hard way."

Rusty sniffed as surreptitiously as he could, and ended up using the sleeve of his jacket to rub his nose. "I understand. I swear. Lieutenant, I'm – I'm so sorry. If I'd known..."

"I'm not so convinced that you do understand." Provenza shook his head disbelievingly. "You know, I'd have thought that you'd learned your lesson when you got yourself and your mother subpoenaed... But it seems to me that you're trying your best now to get both of you arrested."

"No!" Nononono…that wasn't what he wanted! He wanted to find out Alice's real name. He wanted to make Sharon proud of him. He wanted to show her – everyone really – that he'd learned what dedication to a seemingly hopeless cause meant. Somehow, he didn't think that being arrested was the right way to go about that. Sharon would never forgive him. "Lieutenant – please...!"

Provenza sighed and shook his head sadly. He began returning the papers to the folder slowly with a grave expression more fitting a funeral than the harsh break room lighting.

Rusty watched him solemnly close the folder; for all the weight and finality it carried it should have sounded like a book slamming or a gravel banging harshly against a table. But it closed silently without even the rustle of a stray paper.

"Luckily for you..." Provenza's hand rested on top of the folder, " the fact that this happened during a manhunt for Rico, with a dozen tips coming every minute, makes it near impossible to _prove_ the lack of cause." He paused for a moment, "Of course, you knew that, too. You deliberately misused the resources you'd been trusted with because you knew how unlikely it was you'd be caught."

Rusty felt his cheeks burning again. How did the Lieutenant always _know_.

"And it just so happens" Provenza continued, "that arrest and criminal records are a matter of public record – which means you could've gotten all this information with a call to Maryland. Or some time spent on a search engine."

Rusty's head snapped up. _What_? No. That wasn't...that wasn't possible. Was it? Had he really risked going to jail for no reason? He could get Sharon arrested for finding information that was openly accessible to everyone?

"And _you_ misusing police resources this way isn't a federal crime," Provenza clarified, "but a class two misdemeanor, since you aren't an officer. Although," sharp eyes accompanied with a warning frown seemed to stare straight through Rusty, "it _would_ be a federal crime if your mother took responsibility for it. You better not forget that, Rusty."

"I won't. I..." Rusty shook his head. He could feel his jaw quivering. "I will _never_ do something this stupid again."

"You listen to me, son," Provenza's narrowed eyes showed that no mercey would be forthcoming. "I know this Alice story is important to you – and I _know_ how much effort you're putting into it. But you'd better take a step back and give some serious thought to your priorities, and to what you're willing to sacrifice to get those answers you're looking for. Because right now, you're skating on some pretty thin ice – and I'm not sure you're aware of what's going to happen if it breaks under you." There was a flash of anger in the Lieutenant's expression, "And maybe think about how what you're doing is affecting other people, for a change. I'm not just talking about the Captain, either – each and every one of us trusted you to be around the murder room, and I'm not impressed with the outcome of our show of faith."

"I'm sorr–"

Provenza waved off the apology. "As for your mother," He leaned forward his finger pointing at Rusty, "don't make the mistake of thinking that the love and trust she places in you make you somehow immune from consequences."

"I don't–"

Provenza leaned back in his chair, his stern look never wavering despite Rusty's attempted apologies. "Because even if you don't get _her_ in trouble – and trust me, your actions are likely to, at this rate – eventually, that kind of thinking might end up putting her in the position of having to choose between letting a crime go on your permanent record, or trying to do a cover-up for your sake." The lieutenant's jaw clenched before he continued, "How do you imagine she'd feel about either of those options?"

Rusty's stomach churned unhappily. He didn't _want_ to imagine.

It wasn't lost on him, either, that the lieutenant had probably confronted a similar choice, right before their conversation.

When Provenza leaned forward again, his voice was slightly warmer, and the sharp edge was tempered with kindness. "You know I'm your friend, Rusty." He waited for Rusty to nod, and meet his eyes. "A very _good_ friend. That's why I hope you've learned a lesson today. Because the next time, you might have this conversation in an interview room, and it won't be nearly as friendly."

Rusty nodded again. The shame and embarrassment mixed with a very real sort of fear, now.

With one last shake of his head, Provenza pushed his chair back, and got up.

Rusty swallowed hard. "I have to tell Sharon about this...?" It came out as a question because a small part of him pointlessly hoped that the lieutenant would tell him 'no'. That there was no need to discuss this with Sharon. Even though he knew better _.._.

Provenza's eyebrows arched, and the lines around his mouth softened, though he didn't smile. His shoulders relaxed when he sighed. "That's one part of this that I can't help you with. You're going to have to deal with that consequence on your own, Rusty." He paused and Rusty decided he must make a pitiful picture because the Lieutenant _almost_ looked sorry for him. "But I'll tell you this... the longer you wait, the worse it'll get."

Rusty nodded, his lip quivering. Somehow, he'd managed not to cry, but as his stomach continued to knot and plummet towards the floor which helped give his heart plenty of room to pound in his chest. How could he even begin to tell Sharon about this? He'd rather have to tell her his other mom escaped from jail or something.

"Lieutenant..." His voice was quivering, but he managed to get the word out.

Provenza turned around, slowly. There was no anger in his expression, which somehow made Rusty feel worse. His eyes held only disappointment.

Rusty swallowed hard. "...Thank you. I..." He forced himself to look the Lieutenant in the eyes. "Thank you for..." There weren't good words to say it, so he just waved his hand vaguely between the two of them, "...this."

"You better do some serious thinking, Rusty." A finger pointed in his direction again, but the irritation coupled with sympathy couldn't cover the older man's disappointed tone. "Or I'm not seeing good things down the road."

Rusty nodded.

The lieutenant watched him for a moment. Rusty wished he wouldn't. The longer the lieutenant looked at him with sad blue eyes overwhelmed with disappointment the worse Rusty felt. Eventually, with a final shake of his head Provenza turned and left the breakroom. The door closed gently behind him with a solid click.

Left alone in the breakroom, Rusty put both elbows on the table, and passed his hands through his hair with a sort of dejected desperation. Not only did Lt. Provenza's words weigh heavily on his mind – with his heart still pounding at the thought of having actually done something _illegal_ , because he wasn't _like_ that, and it terrified him to think just how _easily_ he'd done it, too... But more than that, panic of the worst sort constricted his throat when he thought about coming clean to Sharon.

He didn't want to.

But he couldn't _not_.

He couldn't even think about her reaction, without cringing.

If two days previous he'd imagined himself in this place, now, faced with having to tell Sharon about what he'd done, he'd never have gone through with it. He wished for the hundredth time that he could turn back the clock and do things differently.

...but as the lieutenant had said, this wasn't something he could undo. He'd have to go home that evening, and somehow, stand in front of Sharon and tell her the truth about what he'd done. He couldn't even begin to think of the right words.

Rubbing both hands against his burning cheeks, he leaned over the table, and let the dread wash over him.

* * *

 **Thank you for making it this far! Thoughts on the first chapter? If you can guess which author did which parts, we'll give you internet cookies ;) (not the ones DoA makes, so don't worry).**


	2. Chapter 2

**We'd like to thank everyone who read and reviewed the first chapter! Even though FFN seems to have temporarily swallowed your comments into some sort of black hole of software failure, we do love hearing from you! We're glad everyone's enjoying Rusty's well-deserved comeuppance.**

 **Fit to the Crime (2)**

He didn't know if it was the disappointment in Sharon's face that hurt more, or her disbelief when he'd told her.

He'd had to explain twice what he'd done. She'd thought that she'd misunderstood, the first time.

He could tell when it all sunk in by the way her usual warmth drained out of her face, to be replaced by horrified, wide-eyed alert. She'd stared at him for a long, terrible moment, her mouth working silently –

"You were planning," she said, in a hoarse tone, "to go meet with a potential. criminal."

"No! I mean... yes, but – " The fidgeting he'd done from the moment he'd started his explanation hadn't decreased.

Her expression grew darker.

"He wanted to meet with _me_ ," scrambled Rusty. "I knew I had to figure out if he's dangerous before I replied to him."

He could tell by her fixed look that his argument wasn't helping.

"But I swear, I didn't think that the background check could get _you_ in trouble," he pleaded. She really needed to understand that. "I wasn't trying to go behind your back, Sharon, I just... I – I didn't know how else to get that information. I couldn't think of anything else to _do..._ "

Her eyebrows rose a sharp fraction.

He cringed. "I mean... I understand now that doing it was wrong, and that I should've come to you, it's just... at the _time_ ," he tried to explain, "it, it seemed like what I had to do. I felt really awful about it," he swore, "like, like I was lying to you – and I don't want to _do_ that Sharon, I don't. Your trust is really important to me."

She met his eyes, then, and the shame flared like a hot knife through his stomach.

"I see," she said at last.

He didn't think he'd ever felt that awful in his entire life.

"Sharon, I'm sorry."

The silent hum he received in return sounded so brittle it hurt. Sharon still looked like she was struggling to balance her disappointment with her shock. She joined her hands above the tabletop, her palms rigid against each other.

"Is that all?" she asked quietly.

"What...?" Was she trying to dismiss him? He wasn't ready to go. He wasn't done telling her how _sorry_ he was. "No, Sharon..."

"Rusty, is that all you did?" she clarified, in the same restrained tone. "Did you take any other unsanctioned actions while you were volunteering that day?"

"No!" he swore. "No, I didn't, I promise, it was just..." He looked down again. "Just the background check. I'm..." He shook his head. "TJ told me not to do something like that, but... I..."

No matter how much he tried, he couldn't look away for long. When he looked back at her, she'd briefly closed her eyes, pinching the bridge of her nose with a pained frown.

"Sharon..." But he didn't know what to tell her to make it better.

She lowered her hand and opened her eyes.

"You should've listened to TJ," she murmured.

"I know."

Sharon's head dipped in a sad sort of nod. For another long moment, she stared absently at the table, and Rusty could see the crease between her eyebrows deepening.

Her tone was wavering when she finally spoke. "I'm..." She trailed off, looked away, then took a breath and turned her gaze back to him. "I appreciate you telling me the truth, Rusty," she said slowly.

"I'm sorry."

"I know."

"No, Sharon, I'm _really_ sorry..."

She maintained eye contact with him, but didn't say anything. Even a second of silence, however, a second of her disappointment-filled silence, was intolerable. Rusty quickly tried to cover it with more apologies. "I'm sorry. I wish there was a way to fix this...but... I don't know how. Tell me what you want to me to do, Sharon," he pleaded, "and I'll do it, I swear. And – I'll never, _never_ , do anything like this again. And..."

The silence, again.

"How do I fix it?"

"Rusty," she began, and when more silence followed he began to fidget. He was on the verge of another apology, when she continued: "I don't think I can talk about this right now."

He was about to agree to do exactly what she said, when her words sunk in. "But, Sharon–"

"Please, go to your room." Her voice was eerily calm and even. So detached from emotion that it sounded almost pleasant. But it was anything except _pleasant_.

"Sharon, I'm sorry. Listen – please..."

"Rusty, what I need for you to do is let me think." She hesitated briefly. "I'll make dinner." She stood up from the table, turning away from him and going into the kitchen. "I'll call you when it's ready. Afterwards we can finish this conversation."

"Sharon, I'm sorry."

She didn't answer, and instead opened the fridge.

"Sharon..."

"RUSTY!" It was a sound he'd never heard from her. She closed the refrigerator door hard enough for the glass inside to rattle. The noise only added to the surprisingly frightening image she made in that moment.

"I'm sor–"

"Do. Not. Apologize. Again." She enunciated each word carefully while her hand – her thumb and index finger forming an "O" (an odd thing for him to notice, right then) – emphasized each word in harmony. She'd only yelled a single word, but her face was bright red with the anger that radiated out of her in every precisely controlled movement.

He opened his mouth to apologize for apologizing, but quickly snapped it shut.

Sharon stared at him. Her lips pressed together tight, her nostrils flaring slightly, and a sharp, withering look in her eyes that made his chest hurt.

He didn't think he'd ever seen her this mad.

The silence settled again, but he gritted his teeth to keep from speaking. Especially since he didn't know what to say except apologize, and that didn't seem to be working very well.

"Damn it, Rusty."

It was practically a whisper. And if it hadn't been for the complete silence he probably wouldn't have heard it. But he did hear it, and he was sure he'd never heard her say that before. Ever. And he was equally sure that meant she'd never been this angry at him before.

Suddenly, his room sounded like a good idea.

Slowly, Sharon brought a closed fist to her face, obscuring her mouth. Rusty watched her take a deep breath. Followed by another. And another. The heavy silence had settled all around them. It was oppressive, and he would have fled to his room if he weren't so sure it would follow him.

It seemed like _forever_ before she slowly lowered her hand. "I can't believe...I'm so _angry_ at you." She'd turned her head away from him, but now turned back. His eyes began to sting when they met the raw emotion in hers. "And so, _so_ , disappointed."

The words slid over his tongue before he realized he'd opened his mouth, "I'm sorry."

"Sorry isn't going to make a difference _when you're in jail_ ," she snapped, before turning her face away again.

After a moment, she began moving around the kitchen. The way she moved was different somehow. Things seemed to make more noise than usual as she handled them. She opened the fridge at least twice without taking anything out, causing the glass to clink when she closed the door. He couldn't figure out what she was going to cook based on the pans and spices she was removing from the cupboards. He wondered if she'd make something he hated on purpose. His mom – his other mom – had done that when he was little. Before things had gotten really bad and she'd stopped making him something to eat all together.

Rusty began to realize why Sharon hadn't wanted to talk until later. It wasn't that she'd never yelled or snapped at him before. But it wasn't something that she kept up for long. In fact, she usually seemed to regret it instantly afterwards. This time even he could see she wasn't maintaining control very well.

There had been times when he'd first come to live with her that he'd tried to provoke this sort of reaction. Dr. Joe would probably say he'd been intentionally acting out to see just how far he could push her before she got tired of him, too.

He wished he could tell his younger self just how horrible provoking this reaction would be.

She slammed the spatula on the counter before turning to face him. She wasn't as loud as when she'd yelled his name, but she wasn't talking with her usual calm, either. "Do you have any idea what _consequences_ you could be facing? What you did was not only – not only _outstandingly dishonest_ ," (he cringed at the disapproval in her voice), "it was _illegal_! You could go to jail! And even if you didn't serve time, you'd have a record that could follow you for the rest of your life! Do you understand that?"

She stood glowering at him, arms crossed. Apparently, she expected an answer now, but he wasn't sure what she wanted to hear.

"On the bright side, Stroh most likely won't break _into_ jail to kill me...?"

At her withering look, he decided that tension-relieving humor wasn't what she'd wanted him to go for.

She seemed to abandon dinner preparations as she paced. "My God, Rusty. What were you thinking?! How could you _knowingly_ engage in this sort of deception? And... what if Slider's defense attorney finds out about this?"

"Why would that matter?"

"I don't _know_!" She stopped pacing in front of the sink, and, placing both hands on the counter, she leaned against it. Rusty could see the tension in her arms and neck."I don't know," she repeated, more slowly, "exactly what ramifications your actions might have. Beyond taking advantage of the trust that _everyone_ in the division placed on you, you committed a very serious act by misusing LAPD resources, AND contributing to the performance of an illegal background check."

Rusty stared at the floor. "I know..."

"I'm not convinced that you do," said Sharon grimly. "And – that's not even counting your original intention of meeting a potentially dangerous individual on your own! How could you even _think_ about doing that, Rusty? How?" There were tears in her eyes again, and he couldn't bear to look at her.

"I'm s – I – I wasn't going to, Sharon!" His chin was trembling, making it hard to speak right. "I wanted to make sure... That's why I needed the background check..." His arguments sounded pathetic even to his own ears, now. "I made a mistake," he said plaintively. "I should've come to you... I should've asked you..."

"You _should_ have." Her tone was thick, wavering almost – but her expression when she looked at him was determined. "I want you to understand, that going behind my back, planning to take such a – such a reckless, _unnecessary_ risk with Gustavo Wallace," (Rusty could see her getting agitated all over again when she thought about it, and it only made him feel worse), "abusing everyone's confidence, these are all _extremely_ serious matters. I am _astounded_ at the poor judgment they seem to indicate." The force of her disappointment was almost palpable in her words. "I expected better of you, Rusty."

He almost wished she'd go back to the yelling.

"I know." He looked at the wood floors. He knew she didn't want to keep hearing it, but there was nothing else to say. "I'm sorry I let you down, Sharon." That was as much as he could get out. His throat was burning.

"I want you to go to your room," she said quietly, "while I make dinner. I think we both need some quiet time to think."

He nodded his acquiescence. Obviously she didn't want him there, and he felt too drained from their discussion to argue. Feeling the silence like a heavy weight around his shoulders, he began to shuffle toward his room.

"Rusty."

He turned back around, almost hopeful.

Sharon was fixing him with another worried look. "You are _not_ ," she instructed sternly, "to take _any_ further action regarding this Gustavo Wallace, until I'm convinced that you can keep yourself safe. Is that understood?"

He nodded.

"I mean that, Rusty," she emphasized.

Rusty just returned another wordless nod. What did she think, that he was going to go to his room and call the guy to set up a meeting?

He supposed he hadn't really given her a reason to think otherwise.

It hurt down to the very center of his being, to know that Sharon wouldn't trust him anymore.

"I'll call you when the food is ready," she said in a low voice again, and, taking her words for the dismissal they were meant to be, he turned once again, and made his way down the hall, feeling smaller, wronger and more miserable than he had in a very long time.


	3. Chapter 3

**Thank you for reading! And for the wonderful reviews!**

* * *

 **Fit to the Crime (3)**

Sharon tried not to compare her children to one another. Even before Rusty had come into her life with his very specific set of needs, she'd had Emily and Ricky, who were two vastly different people in disposition and temperament. Sometimes, though, she found she couldn't help it. There were situations which elicited similar responses from them.

Earning her forgiveness was one.

There was a certain amount of good behavior she'd come to expect after she'd thoroughly explained to her children why they were wrong. Emily had once made her breakfast every morning for three weeks in a misguided attempt to win back car privileges after she lost them for being caught driving without a seatbelt. Sharon had held onto them for another two months until Emily matured enough to discuss the issue without stomping her feet.

Ricky was less stubborn than Emily. He was the sort of child who teared up the instant she raised her voice. His worst transgression as a teenager had been the time he'd been caught behind St. Joseph's with a group of friends and a joint. He hadn't been the one holding it, and to this day he swore he hadn't tried it. He hadn't made it through his first week of grounding. Three days later, he'd come to her, near tears, afraid that he was on the path to becoming his father. Sharon, who had been very careful _not_ to insinuate exactly that in the lecture she'd delivered, had sat him down for another, calmer talk about making responsible choices. He'd done better after that.

For someone who'd been intent on trying her patience in every way possible, Rusty had turned out to be more like Ricky. He'd changed, as he'd learned to fight with her without lashing out in a blind emotional panic, but he always felt her disappointment keenly.

She wasn't sure that she'd ever been this disappointed with him before, or this angry.

It took her a day to realize what that meant to Rusty.

There were certain things she knew to expect. He was like Emily in that he always made a point of doing the chores where she could see him, and, like her, he always did them silently, sending remorseful looks her way every once in awhile. The wounded puppy expression was so similar, Sharon half-suspected that Emily had taught it to him.

And so, at first, it seemed to Sharon that his behavior was typical. Typical of all her children who were trying their best to lessen her anger and assuage their guilt, not realizing that only time could accomplish both. But there were subtle differences. Differences that came into focus when she came quietly into the dining room the next morning to find Rusty hunched over his laptop. She casually peeked over his shoulder before he knew she was there, to find him looking at apartment listings on Craigslist. He scrolled through them quickly, pausing every now and then to sigh heavily. She stood motionless for a few moments, pondering what to say, when he quite suddenly slammed his laptop shut and began to wring his hands together, still unaware that she was standing behind him. When Sharon made her presence known by saying "good morning" to him, he startled and spun around so fast he nearly knocked the laptop off the table, and scrambled to get to the kitchen as he muttered something about making breakfast.

He made their breakfast in silence, his head down, never sparing her a glance. That was different too, and Sharon found herself missing the wounded looks. When she thanked him for making enough breakfast for both of them – just because she was angry didn't mean she couldn't be civil – he mumbled something she couldn't hear and fled to the kitchen with the dirty dishes.

He left the condo shortly after that, barely whispering goodbye as he hurried out the door. Sharon spent the day at work with divided attention – at least the day was mostly filled with paperwork – and was disappointed to find an empty condo when she got home.

Still, Sharon was grateful for the time to think more directly about her approach. Things had to be done carefully with Rusty. When she heard a key slip into the lock, about an hour after she had arrived home, Sharon gently closed her laptop and turned to face the door.

He came in slowly and quietly, his face looking paler than normal, and stopped dead when he saw her.

"Hey." Sharon tried to sound amiable. There were things he needed to know, and her anger needed to be productive this time. "We need to talk."

Rusty cringed, his knuckles whitening against his backpack straps. He ducked his head too, staring at his shoes. It was real shame she saw when she looked at him, not anything feigned to win her sympathy.

And that he had very good reason to feel ashamed of himself didn't mean that she didn't feel a few twinges of pity. Time had taken the edge off of her anger, and she knew that, now that he understood, he would punish himself for her.

"I think I owe you an apology." She kept her voice soft, in complete contrast to how she'd sounded the day before.

Rusty's head came up briefly with wide eyes filled with shock and confusion. He quickly bowed it again. "Wait, but Sharon – like, you were totally, totally right about _everything_ , and I–"

"Oh, that's not what this conversation is about, don't worry." Considering the top of his bowed head, she frowned. She still couldn't _believe_... "But there were some things that I think I was too angry to make clear to you during our first conversation, and for _that_ I am sorry."

She watched Rusty swallow, his fingers still clenched tight around those straps. "Like... what?"

"That I love you, for one."

The first time she'd told him, she'd been angry then too. What had he been _thinking_ , hiding those letters from her? Hadn't he _realized_ how much danger he'd been in?

But, sometimes, the most important thing was that he know.

He didn't seem to know how to respond. She could tell he hadn't expected it. He looked down and away from her, but she could see his wide eyes from where she stood. She'd hoped he would relax but he just seemed to wind himself tighter, shoulders curling forward, and he tugged the backpack higher up towards his neck.

That wasn't the reaction she was hoping for. "We should've talked more yesterday." She hadn't wanted to say anything she couldn't take back.

Rusty's voice was small. "Sharon, I'm sorry."

She tried to hide her rekindled aggravation at hearing it again, because they needed to talk about more important things and that seemed to be the _only_ thing that he was willing to say. With a wave of her hand, she indicated the couch.

"Come here," she said, stepping away from her desk. "Sit with me."

Rusty edged closer. He fit himself into a corner of the couch, his backpack piled between them like some kind of shield. Sharon watched him fiddle anxiously with one fraying strap. That the backpack had something to do with his other mother was painfully clear. Someday, she wanted to know the entire story.

"I think you understand why I'm angry with you," she said quietly. She shook her head before he could apologize again. "I know you're sorry. Let me finish. I'm angry with you, yes. But Rusty, love isn't something for you to earn through good behavior." Her eyes landed on the backpack again. "At least, not my love."

Ricky and Emily always felt properly ashamed when she got this angry at them. Rusty doubted her love.

She could strangle Sharon Beck.

"I messed up so bad, Sharon."

"I'm certainly not disputing that," she said. "But there are fair and unfair consequences to everything, and I think that what you're feeling now is disproportionate."

He gave her a confused look. "What I'm feeling?"

Sharon drew one leg up onto the couch, lacing her fingers together against her knee. "What have you been thinking about, since yesterday?"

"Like..." He fidgeted. "Everything you and TJ and the Lieutenant said. What I did was wrong. And selfish. And I'm sorry."

"Not to mention illegal." He flinched a little at the reminder, but she wasn't saying it to be cruel. She needed him to understand. "But what _else_ , Rusty?"

"I... what did you mean?"

Sharon clasped her fingers together in her lap. "Why were you looking at apartment listings this morning?"

Rusty flinched. "I... I – I..."

"It's all right," she said, because he could stammer for awhile. She could see his breathing turn shallow too, and she didn't want him to panic. "But I need to know why. Did you think I wouldn't want you here?"

Rusty stared at his lap. "Like the lieutenant said. I could've gotten you _fired_. Or – or _arrested._ "

"Probably not arrested." Sharon hummed. "That wasn't an answer."

"I didn't think _that_ , exactly," he said. "But... sometimes, I think about my other mom, and then I just start feeling like... and I screwed up so bad, Sharon."

"You did." Sharon rubbed the center of her palm with a thumbnail, trying remember to hold her hands still. "Do you know _why_ I'm so angry with you?"

Rusty hesitated. "I took advantage of your trust," he said at last, squeezing his eyes shut.

"No – well, that too," she acknowledged. "We're not done talking about that. But Rusty... what I'm not sure you understand is that I'm worried." Quietly, she added, "Do you realize it took me months to sleep through the night again after Stroh escaped?"

Rusty looked at her uncertainly, like he wasn't sure what Stroh had to do with it but didn't want to ask.

"And now," she continued, "you telling me that you were planning to meet with someone dangerous, not to mention breaking the law – Alice's life matters, but _so does yours._ "

"I know that, Sharon."

"You have worked so hard the last three years," she said. "I've watched you. And to see you now do _anything_ to endanger your future…"

He was quiet for a long time. "I guess I never really looked at it that way."

Sharon rubbed her forehead. "How do you think I would feel, visiting you in jail?"

There was a long pause.

"Probably how I feel when I visit my mom." Rusty stared at his lap again, twisting one of his shirt tails around his index finger. "Like... I'm always afraid that I'll get there and she'll have been in a fight or something, or gotten in trouble somehow. There's a lot of weird rules in jail."

"There are," she agreed. Rusty would not do well in jail. "And what about at your funeral? How do you think I would feel _then_?"

She choked on the last word.

Rusty looked horrified. "I'm sorry!" She hadn't especially wanted him to say it yet again, but it gave her a moment to compose herself. "Like... I'm just really, really sorry. I don't know what else to say, Sharon."

Sharon clenched her jaw as the edges of her vision grew blurry. "I know you are." Her voice was too thick. She swallowed as hard as she could and cleared her throat. "You don't have to say anything else. You need to start _thinking_ , because if anything ever happened to you I would never forgive myself."

She wasn't sure if he understood yet, that he was her child just as much as the other two, and he didn't lift neatly out of her life.

If she thought about that any longer, she really would cry.

"I am also, of course, disappointed you lied to me."

"I know." Rusty shrank back. "I should've been there to help."

"Not only that," she said, "but Rusty, we were trying to catch two very dangerous killers before they could execute the only witness to their crime. You misused the resource that was supposed to speed that process up and, by doing so, potentially exposed him, his family, and countless members of the LAPD to unnecessary danger. Including me."

"I'm sorry." Rusty blurted out another apology, then cringed. "Sorry. I would never _intentionally_ – I swear I didn't know. And I didn't know that _you_ could get in trouble for what I did."

"There is that too." Sharon ended up speaking to the top of his head again when he wouldn't look at her. "I have worked very hard to get to where I am."

"I know, Sharon."

"The respect of my fellow officers is not something that I take for granted," she went on, calmer now. It was easier to be angry. "Neither is my position. I thought you understood that, but you jeopardized both in doing what you did, and that... hurts." That was harder to admit than she liked. She'd built up a certain amount of resistance over the years to revealing that sort of vulnerability, especially to the person who'd disrespected her. "I understand that you didn't know that, but you knew that you were lying. Didn't you?"

"Yes." His voice was small. "I thought..."

"Yes?" she prompted, when he didn't finish.

Rusty hesitated. "You'll be upset."

Sharon almost snorted. She caught herself just in time to remain stern, biting down on the inside of her lip to keep it from twitching. She raised an eyebrow.

"More upset, I mean." Unaware that he'd almost made her smile, Rusty continued staring miserably down at his lap. "Because you're right. I knew. And I thought about not doing it, but then I did it anyway and... I'm not really sure why."

He was right. She was more upset.

Sharon sighed. "Thank you for telling me."

In response, he lifted his head just enough to look at her from beneath his eyelashes. Sharon was doing her best to keep her face controlled, but she could only imagine what her expression looked like. She couldn't have been failing too badly, though, because he brought his head up the rest of the way.

"There's something else I think we need to talk about."

What little calm there was in his face was quickly replaced again by distress. Sharon shook her head. "No," she said. "This isn't something that you did, not really."

"What is it?"

"Alice," Sharon said. "We need to talk about why she's so important to you, and the effect it's having on your behavior."

"Dr. Joe and I talked about that already."

"I think further discussion is warranted, don't you?" She waited for him to nod. "I have – up until now, that is – been very proud of the work you've done, but you haven't been acting like yourself since you started looking into her. Do you know what I'm talking about?"

"I..." Rusty hesitated, stretching out the silence as he struggled to come up with something. "I guess I've been... more focused. And – and more honest. About myself."

"That wasn't quite what I meant." Sharon pursed her lips. "Though... I _am_ glad that you feel comfortable being this open about yourself." She hadn't forgotten how terrible she'd felt, explaining that he _had_ to testify while he'd teared up, certain that no one would ever like him if they knew. "But is there anything else?"

"And I've been thinking about my life more," he told her, sounding sure of himself for the first time since he'd confessed to her. "And my priorities. And–"

"Those are all good," she said. "How about in relationship to... other people?"

"My relationship to Alice?" He faltered when she shook her head. "Or... wait, do you mean TJ?"

"No," Sharon said quietly. "I mean acting as though other people don't matter beyond the extent to which they are useful to your story."

"I – I don't..." She thought she could see comprehension dawning faintly, as he shook his head and his voice rose in agitation. "I don't think that, Sharon. Sharon. I don't think that."

"Maybe not," she said sadly. "But when you chose to run this background check, you prioritized your story above the well-being of your family and friends."

She'd finally found the right words to strike a chord within him. Rusty's eyes widened and he sat back, still shaking his head. "I... no, Sharon, _Sharon_ , I'm not... Sharon..."

She could measure his distress by the number of times he said her name. When his eyes welled up with tears, she was expecting it. His face crumpled a moment later and he squeezed his eyes shut, turning his face away from her like he was hoping she wouldn't notice the tear that escaped and slid down his cheek.

Sharon swallowed hard herself and stretched an arm out to him. When he shook his head, she sighed. "I expect a lot from you," she said. "I do from all my children. I don't expect perfection."

He stayed where he was for a moment. Sharon let her arm hang in the air between them. She almost scooted closer, then caught herself before she could. She couldn't remember if she'd ever touched him while she was angry. She was sure that everyone else who had hadn't been gentle with him.

Rusty came closer slowly, giving her half a dozen anxious looks to be sure she hadn't changed her mind, and then he shifted his backpack down to the floor and let her arms go around him.

Sharon pulled him close against her, fingers lacing together behind his back as she squeezed him hard. Rusty clung to her ribs with his head on her shoulder, sniffling.

She wanted to protect him from everything. Even himself.

"I don't know why I did it," he said, speaking into her hair. "You were right. I knew I shouldn't have. But I did, and I almost got you into trouble and – and I'm _sorry._ "

Sharon tightened her arms when she felt him tense, holding him closer instinctively.

"No," she whispered. "You're all right. I've got you."

He stayed where he was longer than she expected. He seemed to need the reassurance, and it was good for her too, to have this moment of stillness to just hold onto him and breathe.

When he sat up, she let him go slowly.

"Are you all right?"

"Yeah." His eyes were dry, but he scrubbed at his cheeks with the heel of his palm. "No. I feel worse about this than anything else I've ever done. Like... anything. Ever."

"There's a difference between things that you've done and things that were done _to_ you," she reminded him. That was usually what he meant. "Remember that."

"I know."

"Let me ask you something," she said. "Has Dr. Joe ever used the term _survivor's guilt_ with you?"

He shook his head.

"You have a couple of eggs," she said. "Some break. Others don't. When you have people instead of eggs, sometimes we feel guilty for surviving circumstances that others did not."

"No," he said. "I see where you're going, and I don't feel guilty."

"Or undeserving."

He was quiet for a long time. "I guess it's like you said," he told her finally. "Luck's important."

"It wasn't _all_ luck." That was what she needed him to understand. "You didn't have to call 911 that night. You did that because you knew it was the right thing. You didn't have to work as hard as you did in school, or at your job, or even now with this vlog. You are where you are now because you've _worked_ for it. I've watched you do it."

"You helped."

"Some," she said. "Mostly, I offered you things you didn't have to accept."

"You didn't have to offer them, either." He was starting to look guilty again. "Sharon, I'm–"

"I know," she said. "Just think about it."

"I will."

"Good," she said. "Thank you. What about _projecting_? Do you know that one?"

"Yeah," he said. "I know that one."

"And?" she prompted. "What do you think?"

He was quiet for a long time. Sharon watched him, not pressing because she wanted him to really think about it for himself.

"I think maybe Dr. Joe was trying to tell me this the other day," he said finally. "I didn't listen to him, either. I probably should've."

"Probably," she agreed.

"It's just, at the _time_ , I thought... and I was thinking about something else." He flushed. "About whether or not to give you and Andrea those messages."

"Ah," she said. "That you did the wrong thing now doesn't mean I'm any less proud of you for doing the right thing then, you know. I know that was hard."

"But it shouldn't have been," he said. "Because, like, Sharon, you are _way_ more important to me than the vlog or Alice or any story or... _anything_ , almost. You're my _mom_."

She couldn't _not_ smile at that. "I am," she agreed. "That means that it's my job to teach you to make the right decisions on your own, for yourself, and to help you when you don't."

"I don't know how to fix it."

"This isn't something that you _can_ fix. It's done. All you can do now is to do better in the future." She paused, wanting him to look at her for this next part. "And, Rusty, I know that you're better than this."

He nodded rapidly, his head bobbing up and down. "I'll be better," he promised, his voice wavering. "I swear. I'll never do anything like this again, ever."

"I believe you." He hadn't backed away after letting go, and she reached up, gently touching his cheek with her thumb. "One more thing. Being your mother is a gift that I did not expect to be given, and I am grateful for it every day."

"Sharon..." Rusty's voice dissolved.

The second hug was less desperate than the first. He didn't cling to her quite as much, and she didn't clasp her hands together behind him. Instead, he fit his head against her shoulder and she curled one arm around his back, her other hand stroking his hair.

"I know I've already said it like a thousand times–"

"Rusty–" She couldn't bear to hear another apology.

"No, but you don't _understand_ ," he insisted, his shoulders tensing beneath her hand.

"I do," she promised, pulling back enough to press her lips to his temple. "I know. We're going to be okay."

He relaxed again after that, and she held on until his breathing slowed to match hers.

"Better?" she asked, when he pulled away.

He nodded.

"I know it doesn't feel like it right now, but believe it or not, a little bit of guilt can be a good thing."

"I don't see how."

"I'll explain." She paused. "I'm not proud of this."

That caught his attention.

"You know how I feel about rules." That got a smile out of him, quickly hidden though it was. "I've always been that way. I cut class _once_ in high school. Hear me out," she said, when Rusty gave her a look. "I'm trying to illustrate the point. I was seventeen. It was the Friday before a long weekend, and some of my friends who'd gone off to college the year before were home visiting. They wanted to go up to the beach, but it was a long drive and if we'd waited until after school, we wouldn't have had enough time before dark."

"So you went," he said.

"I did," she confirmed. "I snuck out after lunch. My friends and I had a great time, my parents didn't suspect a thing, and I'd almost forgotten about it by the next Tuesday when I went back to school. Neither of the teachers whose classes I'd skipped said anything. I thought I'd gotten away with it... until the very end of the day. When I was leaving, my history teacher – her name was Ms. Donovan – asked me to stay for a minute."

"Did you get in trouble?"

"Worse," Sharon told him. "She wanted to know if I was feeling better, because she assumed I wouldn't have missed class for any other reason. I should've told her the truth. I knew it then, too, but I knew that if I did, she would be disappointed. Maybe enough to change her mind about writing me recommendation letters for college. Maybe enough to tell my parents. So I lied and told her I'd been feeling sick, and she believed me. I never did tell her. I felt awful about it, but I never did it again because I remembered that feeling. What you did was obviously more serious, but that was the lesson I wanted you to learn from all of this, do you understand?"

Rusty nodded his head.

"I want you to remember what you're feeling right now so that, in the future, this will help you to make better decisions. What I don't want, the last thing that I will _ever_ want, is for you to worry that your having made a mistake, even such a serious one, means that I love you any less, _or_ that there is ever anything that you could ever do to make yourself unwelcome in my life." She hated how his nod this time was less certain. "Rusty..."

"I get it, Sharon. Like, I _know_ that. But sometimes... I feel like..." He shrugged. "Sometimes, I feel like you might. Even though I know you won't. I used to do it more."

Sharon's head tilted. "When?"

"When I was turning eighteen," he said. "When my mom came back. Before the adoption. In case you changed your mind," he explained, and Sharon felt her throat swell shut. "I didn't _really_ think you were going to. Just – sometimes... My mom changed her mind about me. Sometimes it helps me to remember that if I'm not here, it won't be like before."

He misunderstood her silence, and twitched apprehensively. "I guess that doesn't make it sound better."

Sometimes when he told her these things, she could feel her heart bruising.

Sharon laid her hand on his arm.

"I was lucky," she told him. "When Jack lost our savings, I had a good job. Even with his debts to pay back, we were all right. But the first six months, the first year, really, were very hard, financially, and after, even when I knew that I didn't need to worry anymore, I couldn't sleep at night without knowing exactly how much money was in the bank."

He looked relieved that she understood. "It's like that. I think."

"And it will _never_ be like before," she said, squeezing his arm. "I think if this incident has demonstrated anything, it's that you haven't outgrown the need for parenting. I want you where I can keep an eye on you." She tried to smile. "What?"

Rusty's face fell again. "Do you think I should stop looking into Alice?"

That was the question. Sharon gave him a long look. He stared back so _earnestly_. She tried not to sigh. "Rusty..." Part of her wanted to tell him that from now on, he was only allowed to make decisions she'd personally approved at least twenty-four hours in advance. "What do _you_ think?"

She could tell he hadn't expected her to turn the question back around on him. Rusty gave her a look of vague alarm. "I feel like I'm so close," he explained. "And it feels wrong, no one knowing who she is. But I _did_ mean it when I said that you were more important than Alice. All of you guys are. So if you don't want me to, then I won't."

"I appreciate that." Sharon considered him another moment. "I think I'm not ready to discuss this with you. No," she said, touching his arm again. "It's all right. I think you should take a couple of days to think about it yourself, and _then_ we will discuss how to proceed with Alice."

That wasn't the answer he'd been hoping for, but it was the best she could do right now. "I have a better idea for tonight," she said. "Invite TJ over for dinner."

They could both use a distraction, and... honestly, she couldn't help feeling that their current predicament was at least partially caused by the two of them having each been so busy, the last couple of weeks. They would fix that, but first, she needed something that would pull Rusty out of his own head.

She'd thought TJ's presence would do it.

She guessed she'd thought wrong when Rusty gave her a suspicious look. "TJ? Why? Look, Sharon, I know you're mad at _me_ , but none of this was his fault, really. He thought it was all a terrible idea."

"Yes, he seems like he's been a good influence on you," she agreed. She hoped TJ stuck around. "It's an invitation to dinner, not the Inquisition. It just seems like the two of you are becoming good friends, and I'd like to meet someone who's important to you."

"He's not important," Rusty blurted out. He paused, his cheeks turning pink when she raised an eyebrow. "I mean, okay, yes, he _is_ important, but it's – I mean – no, but see – we're not dating."

He arrived at this conclusion and promptly turned scarlet.

"I know," she promised. "But he _is_ your friend, isn't he?'

"I guess." The tips of his ears were red now. "Are you sure this is a good idea?"

"Rusty, he's your friend. If you don't want to, we can forget the whole thing."

"It's not that," he said. "I just – I don't want him to get the wrong idea."

"Ah," she said. "And dinner would give him the wrong idea?"

"Maybe?" Rusty gave her a hopelessly confused look. "I like him, Sharon. I like him a lot, but I don't know if I like him... more than that. And I don't know how dating works, really. So... I _want_ him to come, but not if he'll think it means something it... doesn't."

Somehow, her plan to cheer him up a little had gone sideways. "If it makes any difference to you, Emily and Ricky brought friends home for dinner all the time. And TJ _has_ been here before."

"But that was different. That was work. He was helping me with Alice, or we were moving the lieutenant's stuff – oh," he remembered. "I guess he's still looking for his hat stand. It looks like a cactus?"

"I'll keep an eye out for it," she said wryly. "So... about dinner?"

"Maybe... do you think it'd be okay if we invited the lieutenant too?" he asked. "And Patrice? Because the other day, he said something about inviting us over for dinner. So then it would be... kind of like that."

"Kind of," she agreed, hiding a smile. "Go ahead and ask. I'm sure he wouldn't mind coming over if they don't already have plans. He never says no to a free dinner." While he was there, she'd invite him to take a look around for the hat stand himself.

Rusty reached down, hoisting his backpack up onto the couch. When she raised an eyebrow, he explained, "I'm going to ask TJ first."

"You're not going to text him?"

"I'm going to IM him. Instant messaging," he elaborated. "It's like texting, but on the internet."

"I'm aware." She didn't hide her amusement that time. "I _did_ use the internet before you, you know."

Rusty gave her a sideways look. Then, wisely, he opened his laptop without responding. The screen that popped up was the one that she'd glimpsed over his shoulder that morning, the Craigslist page with the apartment listings.

He closed it.

* * *

YAY! You finished! We do hope you enjoyed these 10,000+ words. We'd love to do business again, sometime. Tell us your thoughts on how Sharon handled Rusty. AND YOUR THOUGHTS ON TONIGHT'S EPISODE!

Also, we've had no guesses as to who wrote what. We're really very curious. And we won't be offended in any way with your guesses. SO GUESS! Let us know all your thoughts.


End file.
